Summer Job

I tightened my carpenter’s belt and looked at the rotting foundations. I had taken on the job of building a new terrace on my uncle’s summer house, a combination vacation and summer job. Actually there were two uncles who had built only yards apart on my grandfather’s land, part of the deal being that my mother got the apartment in the city. I hefted a crowbar and tried to look mean.
— Hi there!
I turned. She was tiny, dark and beautiful, dressed in a blue micro–miniskirt and a skimpy top, sitting on the porch of the other house, looking expectantly at me.
— Deena?
She jumped up, came over and gave me a hug. –Terry!
The last time I saw her she was a skinny imp, twelve or so, with her half Thai features just short of breaking out in full bloom. She hadn’t grown in height, but there were new curves around her hips and more flesh on her arms and legs. The minimal black skirt rode low, but still couldn’t quite hide glimpses of white when she moved. The small lumps under her top showed tiny nipples through the fabric. I knew she was twenty–two, but she didn’t look it.
— Well, cousin, school’s out, right?
— Finally. So here I am, back to nature for two lovely months. She smiled and spread her arms: –Just the trees and me. And you.
I explained my mission. I remembered her fondness for the place, when other twelve–year–olds would dream of stardom, the big city and expensive shoes. She would take long walks, climb trees, and run around with as little on as possible. Not an exhibitionist, a natural. She sat down, arms hugging her knees, white panties showing, and smiled at me. I also remembered our mutual liking, despite a four–year difference in age. I recalled a soft kiss on my cheek and the lightness of her body on my lap in the darkness as Uncle David told ghost stories.
Ten years. It could have been last week. I put the crowbar aside and went to fetch a couple of beers. We sat cross–legged on the grass, updating events. Emptying the can she rose, stretched in a feline way, skirt lifting. Her full black hair reached her tiny waist when she lifted her face. Then she looked down at me.
— Just have to water the grass.
She pulled down her panties and sank to her haunches, still with her eyes on me. Pulled up, smiled, and sat down again.
She used to do that. Squat whenever she had to go, wherever she happened to be, making nothing of it. I admired that naturalness in her, being rather shy myself.
We talked a bit before I decided to start working, promising her to take breaks often. She could make iced tea, or something?
This could be a very satisfying job.
I was well into tearing down the old terrace when Deena appeared, carrying a tray. She called me down, offering me iced tea and cold Pepsi. We sat on the grass, enjoying the sun, reminiscing. She had tucked her legs under her, skirt barely covering her groin. Without interrupting the conversation she spread her legs slightly and I heard a hissing sound. Looking down I saw the golden stream trickle from her panties.
She saw my stare. –Oops, she smiled. –Guess I’m too used to doing that out here. That’s freedom for me. Going whenever I need. Do you mind?
— Not at all. It’s cute.
— Waking up in the morning. Going out on the porch, naked. Letting go right there– back to nature, right?
I smiled at her. –Feel free around me. Brightens up my day, that.
She grinned back. –Keep working, Terry. Talk to you later.
I looked at her sweet butt under the swinging skirt as she walked off, thinking about a wet stain on white cotton.
I decided to stop for the night, having removed most of the old planks. I changed into cutoffs and brought a beer to the front steps. Deena appeared only minutes later, hips swaying, wearing a long knit dress that hugged every curve on her exquisite body. She carried a bottle of white wine and two glasses, and sat down beside me.
— So, she said, –tell me all. Any resident girlfriends?
— None.
— Any getting–to–move–in–soon girlfriends, then?
— None on that, too. You?
— Girlfriends?
— You know what I mean.
She laughed. –Single, and loving every second of it.
Deena hugged her knees. The dress was so tight it didn’t even wrinkle, and she wore panty shorts underneath. –Okay, just got disentangled. End of story.
I downed my beer and accepted wine. Holding the glass kept me from putting an arm around her.
She looked at me, took the glass from my hand, and snuggled in under my arm.
— Just hold me like that, will you.
I felt the heat from her body, and a soft feminine smell. We sat in silence for a while, sipping wine. Then she sighed. –I could sit here forever. If only I didn’t have to pee.
She made no sign of wanting to get up, so I squeezed her shoulder and thought improper thoughts. Minutes passed. Then she lifted her head from my shoulder.
— Well. When a girl’s got to go… She went down onto the grass, wriggled her dress up, and pulled her panties down before squatting. When finished she rose, pulled up and smoothed down her dress. –Whew, she said. –That felt good.
I wasn’t used to girls who were so open about it. I had to adjust myself to keep from escaping my cutoffs. She sat down again and poured more wine.
After some mutual updating on family and history, she suggested a walk. We followed the road along the lake, and suddenly I felt a small hand touch mine. I looked at the tiny woman beside me, with her black hair and beautiful brown eyes, and could have melted on the spot.
Turning down the path to the water she walked in front of me. I caressed her butt with my eyes, watching the fabric move over the outline of the panty shorts. I wondered what color she was wearing.
Down by the shore she turned to me. –Fancy a swim?
— Okay, I said, unbuttoning my cutoffs.
Deena pulled her dress up over her head. Red– bright red panties. Flat belly and small breasts, pointed nipples.
She dipped her toes: –Ow!
— Cold?
— Better add some hot water. She squatted; facing me, butt two inches above the surface, and peed through her panties. –There. Now I have to go in.
She waded to her knees, hugging herself, shivering. My eyes were glued to the wet stain between her legs. She turned. –On second thoughts…
— We’ll come back another day, when the sun is still up, I said, trying to button my shorts.
She laughed. –I’m such a pussy. And I’ve peed my panties again.
— Cute, I said.
She smiled at me and put her dress on, took my hand, and we walked back.
Then she said goodnight and went in.
The next morning I was up early. After a couple of hours her door opened, and she emerged, dressed in an oversize t–shirt. She greeted me, stretched her arms towards the sun, spread her feet and peed standing up. She went back in, and came out minutes later wearing red leggings and a tiny halter–top, carrying a tray. Breakfast for two. We sat cross–legged on the grass, and there was nowhere to look but at her bare belly and the tight cotton beneath it.
Of course we talked, but my mind was on her lovely shapes. There was a penny–sized dark spot between her legs, it could have been from the moisture in the grass, or maybe not. We finished eating, and she carried the tray back to the house. I seriously believe she had nothing under her leggings.
Later she came out to tan herself. It was the smallest bikini I had ever seen–three tiny black triangles on thin strings barely covering nipples and pubic hair, if there was any. It didn’t look like it. She spread out a big towel and arranged books, magazines and beverages around her.
And they were expecting me to work in these circumstances?
I rearranged my plans, deciding to work on the other side so as to have a better view of her. She laid on her belly reading, with her perfect butt to the sun, one string circling her hips and another disappearing down the crack. Perched on her elbows her back was arched, and her hair was tied in two ponytails to be out of the way.
Ten pages on she put the book down and turned on her back. The unnecessary bikini top made her look even more undressed. She put her hand on her belly. Then moved it slowly, in small circles. Her other hand covered one small breast. The circles moved downwards, until her fingertips rested on top of the black Lycra covering her mound. She spread her legs slightly, and her hand slipped further down. One finger found the beginning of her slit, pressing the fabric against her sensitive spot. She pinched her nipple as her hand covered her crotch, pressing rhythmically on her openings. A mewing sound escaped her as her hips rose and her hand clenched.
She lay still, getting her breath back. Then she pushed the Lycra to one side and a golden stream rose from her sex. Finished, she adjusted her bikini bottom and turned on her belly again.
I walked around the house to be alone.
I had barely done what I had to do before she called me.
— I need some groceries. Want to come?
— Sure!
She had put on a minimal denim skirt and pink t–shirt. We got in her car, a battered Toyota. There was a towel on the floor in front of the passenger seat, and she quickly tossed it in the back. She drove sitting with legs apart, giving me a good view of her pink panties.
— What’s with the towel, I asked.
— If it’s a long drive, I sit on it, she replied.
— For comfort?
She cast a glance at me. –Don’t pretend. In case I’m held up in traffic, of course.
— Then you just…
— Let go. Do I shock you?
— You turn me on, I said. –I would love to see that.
She put a hand on my thigh. –Buy me a soda or two, and we’ll see what happens.
We made our purchases and walked down the short street to the caf’. I ordered iced tea and water, and we sipped, watching the locals. We even had another round before we left. Deena walked with small steps, soft thighs together, obviously in need of a pee. She smiled as she wriggled into the seat, hand touching her belly:
— I really have to go.
— Drive slowly, I said.
She chose a longer way home. Now she had to keep her knees together, and occasionally a hand left the wheel to rest in her lap. She bit her lip and concentrated, wriggling in the seat.
— I have to pee, she said. –Really have to pee. She checked the mirror and slowed down before reaching for the towel. –Almost wetting myself, she moaned as she struggled to fold the towel and place it under her butt, still cruising slowly.
— I can’t hold it, she whispered, knees trembling. She spread her legs, and I stared as she began wetting her panties and skirt, staining the towel. –I’m peeing!
She managed to stop the flood, and drove on. There was a soft smell of girl pee in the car. Minutes later she pulled over. –I’m still bursting, she said. –Should I just do it?
— Let go, I said.
She looked down in her lap, pulled up the hem of the skirt and watched herself as she let loose, totally soaking the towel. Relieved, she smoothed down the skirt and drove on home.
I watched her as she walked away from the car, carrying groceries. She reached up under the wet crescent to pull her soaked panties out of her butt crack.
Through the lace curtains I could see Deena in her room– a small dark outline still wearing the miniskirt. She moved about, occasionally drinking from a soda or something. She looked in her closet, probably choosing new garments. There was probably a mirror on the wall perpendicular to the window, as she stood still staring at something. She made a beautiful silhouette, her long thick hair, the small plums on her chest, the arc of her back accentuating her tiny belly and rounded butt.
She pulled her t–shirt over her head. Stroked her breasts, cupped them. Stepped out of her skirt, wriggled her panties down. She patted her belly, and then turned around to look at her own profile, back to me. Incredibly slim waist. Slowly she pulled a garment over her head; it must have been very tight fitting, as it didn’t change her profile. She pulled on a pair of pants, wriggling her hips to fit them in. Suddenly she turned and pulled the curtains away, laughing at me. –Nice view, Terry?
— Who needs a TV?
— Be right with you.
She stepped up to me carrying a six–pack. The t–shirt was white with some cartoon figure on the front. The jeans, barely covering her pubic mound, were faded light blue and were laced up in front. No pockets. She sat beside me, popping a beer.
I pointed at the grinning face on the t–shirt. –Still shopping in the children’s department?
— Sure. You should see my Minnie Mouse panty collection.
— You’re not wearing any now, I believe.
— Voyeur!
— Exhibitionist!
— Perfect couple, right?
Her eyes laughed at me. She was my cousin, that made it OK, didn’t it? I smiled and drank beer.
I had to relieve myself. I stepped down, finding no need for seclusion, and unbuttoned. She looked at me, and then rose, came up behind me, and took matters into her own hands, so to speak. I felt myself grow in her small hand as she watered the bushes. She put me back in – not without difficulty – and buttoned up. –You forgot to shake, I said.
She laughed. –Next time. Then she began to unlace her jeans.
— Wait, I said. –You’ll probably need help with that.
I stood behind her, bending down to untie the knot. Straining the fabric I pulled her jeans down to mid–thigh, and on sudden impulse I grabbed her behind her knees and lifted her. She let it flow, relaxing in my arms.
I helped her lace up again, and she stretched to give me a quick kiss. Time for more beer.
The night grew chilly. She moved one step below me and leaned back between my legs, putting my arms around her. I felt a small breast, but she didn’t move my arm.
— Did you know I had a big crush on you, back then?
— Really?
— Oh yes. I remember watching you, getting all kinds of strange feelings in my pussy. I even spied on you when you peed, pulling down my shorts, trying hard to do the same. I wanted to hold you while you did it.
— Now you have.
— But then I could only imagine. I even tried peeing standing up, but most of it soaked my shorts. Actually, that didn’t feel so bad, so I started wetting myself frequently. When nobody would find out. I wore a dress with nothing under so I could sit on the grass and do it. Sneak my hand under my skirt and hold myself. Rub a little. Fondle my little thing down there until my body shivered and I had to pee again.
Deena had one hand between her legs. I stroked her belly, tracing the line above her waistband. My other hand cupped her breast.
— I stopped when my breasts grew and I got my period. Thinking that this wetting stuff was for kids only. But a couple of years ago I sat out here, alone, drinking iced tea, wearing leggings, thinking back. Remembering the feeling. I had to pee, and was feeling a little horny, so I decided to try, just a little. Letting out a few drops. I felt my pussy and got really turned on by the warm wetness. Let go a little more. Drank more tea. Finally I was totally bursting, had to hold on with both hands. Thought why not, so I just spread my legs and peed myself. Lovely. Since then… I’ve been hooked. Terry, I have to pee again.
I slid my hand down to her waistband. She held her breath to let me in. I held her totally hairless pussy, and she spread her legs to help my finger slide into her. As I touched her clit she moaned, wriggled, and peed a small squirt. I kept stroking, feeling my hand get wetter with every movement.
— You’re wetting your jeans, Deena, I said.
— I can’t hold it! She wriggled out of my arms and stood in front of me, hips pushed forward, palm–sized pee stain between her legs. –It’s coming!
The pee burst from her crotch, running down her legs, darkening the pale blue denim. I rose, and she wrapped her arms and legs around me, still peeing. I held her cute little butt, feeling the warm liquid pouring over my hands. We sank down to the ground, undressing each other, streams of pee still spurting from her. We joined. Lying on the grass, beautiful Deena in my arms, I knew this job would take a long, long time.
I felt something hot soak my hand. I moved my fingers.
Aquarius next Aquarius story